


Yellow

by indecisivemango



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Big Grimes Family, Carl is a Little Shit, Comics, Death, Emotions, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I reject your canon and substitute my own, I'll tag as I go, Injury, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Multi, No Grimes Will Die In The Making Of This Story, Philip Blake | The Governor Being an Asshole, Prison (Walking Dead), Rewrite, Rickyl background and slow burn, Roommates, Slow Burn, Susan the stick, Tickle Fights, Zombie Apocalypse, and sense Oliver is an oblivious little shit he doesn't see it for a while, carl and judith have an older 'sister', colored comics are better step the f up twd, dani was close to the Grimes in the before, deep talks, dr strange - Freeform, farmer Rick, gonna be a bumpy fucking ride so hold on tight, its a problem, lizzie is kinda a bitch, longer chapters once season four starts, lots of death sorry (this is twd), lots of fluff tho (Kinda), lots of gay and bi ness, mini doctor oliver, much later tho, not blood but just as close, oliver cant really see, oliver hates swearing so don't fucking do it, oliver learns stuff, oliver likes apples (can you tell?), rick being a dad, short moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-06 05:47:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17934002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indecisivemango/pseuds/indecisivemango
Summary: Oliver didn't count on many things in his life.He didn't count on his birth parents dying, nor his real ones.He didn't count on the dead rising and the world turning to crap.He didn't count on turning half blind.He didn't count on almost giving up, or opting out as some say.And he certainly didn't count on finding love again; finding family, however long it'd last.What he did count on was probably not surviving past the first year of the outbreak.He surprised himself a lot over the past two years.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you'll like it! ^_^
> 
> Updates on Monday's and Thursday's! :)

\--

Oliver leaned against a tree, half blind by the red blood dripping down his face, and fixed the cloth bandage hastily wrapped around his head.

His heart pounded deafeningly loud, his breath quickened as he darted his head to his left then his right.

The unmistakable sound of leaves crunching and the smell of death wafted in his nose and he took off again, sprinting through the woods.

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t really look forwards through either. 

Oliver's vision blurred and pure panic obscured his judgment as he crashed into a fence. 

He looked behind him and sure enough, three of the dead things were still after him. Ice shot through his veins as he bolted again, running along the fence hoping for a breach.

Better inside than outside is what he’d learned over the course of the past year or so.

He ran his hands along the metal, his feet tripping over themselves. Oliver kept glancing over his shoulder, growing more and more fearful with every step he took and every dead thing that joined the hunt for food.

A few tears fell out of his eye, and he struggled to keep up his pace with a twisted ankle. He blamed his brothers’ girlfriend for that. A sharp twinge of guilt shot through him. No. It wasn’t her fault.

It was Oliver’s fault.

He tripped, skinning his knee. Blood poured slowly out of his wound, but his eyes were focused on the group of now six dead things less than thirty feet from him.

“H-help!” He cried, shuffling backward on his hands. It was a longshot. There had to be no humans around for miles. Even if they were, why would they help weak thing like him? His hands shook. “Please!”

A face appeared out of the corner of his eye and he shot backward, nearly hitting his head on a rock. “Hey! Come here, quickly.”

There was a boy about his age behind the fence, his hands opening the ties that were keeping the fence together. The boy took notice of Oliver’s hesitation and growled slightly, “Unless you want to die?”

Oliver nodded quickly, too scared to even think about the consequences. He pushed himself up with the last of his strength, ignoring the extreme wave of dizziness that made him want to fall over and crawled through the opening in the fence.

As soon as he was through the hole, the boy tied off the opening, much to the displeasure of the dead things that banged on the chain.

The boy spun on his heel, staring straight at Oliver. “You bit?” He questioned aggressively, his eyes narrowed at the exhausted, blood-soaked boy on the floor.

Cotton filled his brain, his thoughts floating through thick jelly. He shook his head, grabbing hold of the shifting fence to keep him upright. 

“Are you bit?” The boy asked again, his voice raised considerably, not taking his head movement as an answer. Oliver wondered if he had even moved at all.

“No!” He shouted, tearing at his vocal cords, his voice hoarse from disuse. The boy nodded, his face softened slightly, staring at his bandage.

Oliver shut his eyes, falling to the floor, and wondered why he had even stood up at all. “Thank you. Thank you so dang much.” He felt the boy sit in front of him and opened his eyes. “I’m Oliver.”

The boy half-smiled. “Carl Grimes.” His hand rested on something in his shoe. Silver glinted in the midday sun.

A knife. He thought. He couldn’t really trust his sight at the moment. Nevertheless, he scooted away sutley.

He caught his breath, not realizing that he had been panting, the pain in his chest from running slowly subsided until it was little more than a dull ache, and the old twist in his ankle felt better.

Oliver looked at the place that saved him, noticing that there were two sets of fences (that he was in the center of) and that beyond that was a prison with – woah.

People.

Lots and lots of people. There was a garden with crops, and a farm with pigs and he was certain that beyond the large grass area was a market and then there was a knife at the eyeball that wasn’t covered.

He leaned back, his eyes crossing as he tried to keep the knife in sight. “You just saved me and now you are gonna kill me? Waste of time I think.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “Not gonna kill you. Unless you don’t answer my questions.”

Oliver gulped slightly. “Yeah. Okay. Shoot.” 

“How many walkers have you killed?” 

What the heck type of question was that? What the heck was a _walker?_ A dead thing probably.

His brother told him not to give them a name. To name something gives it power or whenever he used to say.

Still a weird question though. His eyebrows twisted. It’s not like he enjoyed killing the dead things and kept a record book of all his kills. “You mean dead things? I don’t know. A lot. Who keeps track?” 

Carl’s eyes narrowed slightly before continuing. “How many people have you killed?”

Oliver shuttered slightly, revolted by his own memories. “One.”

“Why.” 

Oliver pointed at his bandaged eye, the eye that was still bleeding down his neck. “He attacked me.”

Carl nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Oliver before he put his knife back in his shoe and stood up. “Stay here. I’m getting my dad.”

Before the boy could run inside, Oliver coughed. “Wait. You have people here. Do you think I can stay? I don’t have anywhere else to go, and as you probably saw, I’m not gonna survive long if I go back out there.”

Carl turned, his hand twitching slightly before he scrunched up his eyebrows, uncertainty filling his brown eyes.

"Stay here,” Carl repeated his sentence, then jogged around the fences to a door, opened it, and dashed up the garden area to the main prison.

Oliver groaned slightly, the metal of the fences skewering his back. He shifted in place, his hand hovering lightly over his wound on his face.

His hand twitched and red hot pain shot through his eye straight to his spine and he straightened, crying out.

“Dang. That bastard did a number on me.” He whispered to himself, resting his head against the fence again.

His eyes shifted to the dead things that had congregated on the opposing fence, growling at him.

His vision blurred slightly as the blood from his wound dripped into his good eye. He haphazardly wiped it away, smearing the red on his hands and face.

He cleaned it off on his mangled jeans, his eye caught on his shirt that was soaked in blood.

“Dang.” Oliver was honestly surprised that he hadn’t passed out from blood loss. He lifted his wet shirt and let it flop back down to his skin. Welp, he now knew why he was slightly seeing things.

“So you’re Oliver.”

His eyes shot up, his back straightening in alarm. A man stood a few feet from him, an axe tied around his belt, no gun, and a ragged beard. His eyes narrowed and untrusting.

Oliver nearly choked on his own spit. He noticed Carl behind the man, shifting side to side slightly. Oliver wiped more of the blood from his face.

“Y-yeah. That’s me.” Oliver shrunk down further under the glare of the man.

“Why are you here.” The man’s voice was gruff and demanding.

Oliver laughed slightly, playing with the blood-covered beads on his bracelet. “I didn’t mean to be here. Heck, I was right fine where I was not half a day ago.” He swallowed, not wanting to bring up the things he most wanted to forget.

The man laughed slightly without humor in his voice. “Good for you. Now, tell me where you were and what are you doing here. Now. Or I _will_ kill you.”

An axe was leveled with his face. Oliver paled, scooting backward quickly to get away from the blade. The blade followed him, blurring considerably. Faintly, he could hear the sounds of an argument. 

Oliver coughed, rubbing his eye but it refused to return to clarity. His heart twanged, but he would rather not be killed. He held his hands up to his chest.

“Okay. Okay. I was at school. I had been there for a long time, since almost the start. Emily. She was with me.” His mind wandered, his speech slurring slightly.

“We were fine for months. Yesterday, a group came through. Not a good group. They took everything. I got out. Got a car. Wrecked the car ‘cause one of my eyes isn’t working. And now I’m here.” His breath came in short puffs, tears mixing with blood. His eye never left the axe. 

The axe that got even closer, if possible. “And the girl. Emily. She gonna be a problem?” 

“No.”

The man groaned loudly in frustration. “How can you be sure?” 

“Because they got her. And she’s dead.” His voice broke. More blood mixed with more tears and his vision was soon a big blur.

Faintly he heard, “Dad, we have to get him inside, he’s gonna pass out.”

Then his world went dark.

  
\--


	2. Chapter 2

\--

Oliver came to the feeling of actual linen, soft pillows, and a stuffy room.

His eye opened and he was greeted to a concrete roof. He lifted his head slightly and saw bunks and doors with bars. Prison. They brought him inside. A breath of relief was exhaled and he settled back down to his pillow. So it wasn’t a dream.

It was still light out, so he must’ve been out for over a day. His hands shook as he felt his eye. New bandages. Gripping the sides of the bed, he stood up slowly, his vision dancing with black dots.

Nasua filled his stomach as he rested against the metal of the top bunk. Oliver breathed, his vision returning to his normal half-sight and the nausea retreating.

He took small, cautious steps out of the cell that he was in, taking in the feeling of temporary safety. He bumped into the door, misjudging where it was. He was certain it had been farther away from him.

“Woah, when did you get up!” Oliver quickly turned, nearly falling over to get a good look at whoever had spoken.

A small yelp and someone dodged his clumsy self. Oliver steadied himself on the wall, nearly crashing to the floor in the attempt to find it, as it had been farther away than he thought. He took a deep breath and glanced at the person who’d nearly given him a heart attack.

“Watch out next time, I just came to say hello, not get attacked by a kid.” A little girl, a couple years his junior, stood with her arms crossed, her blonde hair a mess.

He laughed slightly, his chest aching. “No promises,” he jested. “I’m Oliver.”

“Mika. Do you want Hershel? You have a cloth around your eye. Did you hurt yourself? Your the new kid right? Did the council let you stay? What did Rick say?”

Oliver’s hand unconsciously went up to his left eye. “Is Hershel the doctor here? Yeah, I’m the new kid. Is Rick the guy with the beard? Can I talk to him?”

Mika nodded, smiling brightly. “Right this way, Oliver!” Oliver didn’t know which of his questions she’d answered. She skipped out of the empty cell block, with Oliver following her slowly, keeping his hand on the wall as he walked. For some reason he kept missing everything, stepping wrong and running into doorways.

He followed the strange girl down a couple of corridors and stepped into the light. Oliver shielded his eye from the sun, carefully stepping down the stairs holding tight to the rail, his knuckles white.

Mika pointed at the small farm in the grass courtyard of the prison. “He’s over there with his son, Carl. Oh and Daniella. They farm stuff. That’s all they do.”

Mika left, but all Oliver was focused on was getting over to the grass without falling over. His depth perception was awful and he was pretty sure that he busted the old injury in his ankle again.

Carl heard him walk over, nudging his dad. A girl with dark hair also looked up at him, bent over and pulling weeds. Oliver half-smiled at the three in greeting, making sure to keep enough distance between him and the axe.

Rick stood up from the pig pen, looking him over with a slightly suspicious air. “You’re awake. Hershel was surprised that you had survived with the amount of blood you lost.” Rick put his weight on his right leg.

“Yeah. I’m feeling a little better. Thank you for h-helping me.” Oliver shook slightly, stumbling over his words. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing, assume that they had taken him in case they hadn’t.

It seemed as though Rick hadn't even heard his answer, as he cleared this throat and stared at him. “Does Hershel know that you’re awake?”

Oliver gaped, shaking his head slowly. He didn’t even know this Hershel guy, or that he was supposed to let him know anything.

Rick took his silence as an answer and huffed slightly. “You best do that then. Have him look at you.” The man then returned to his farming, cleaning out the pen. Clearly, the conversation was over. The girl returned to pulling weeds.

Oliver felt odd; as if he had been waiting for something bad and it hadn’t happened. He had been waiting for the slightly scary man to yell at him, tell him to get out and that he wasn’t welcome.

He swallowed, shifting his weight off his bad ankle, and slowly turned around to go back to the cell that he supposed was his. Maybe he could talk to Mika some more. He groaned softly as he put his weight on his bad ankle. Why did he have to walk all the way back?

He was about to start the horrible and death-defying journey back to his cell when he heard Carl speak up from behind him.

“How old are you?”

A random question. One that probably hasn't been asked since before. Oliver turned slowly, keeping his eyes on the horizon as he spun, staring at Carl who was holding a pig. A tiny pig.

Oliver laughed nervously. “Um, erm. I don’t really remember. Time passes differently now, huh?” He paused. “Thirteen, I think.”

“You look older. Sound older.” Rick commented, a very slight tone of guilt present in his voice as if thinking he wouldn’t have treated Oliver the way he had if he had known that he was barely a teenager. He used to get that a lot, before; he apparently was tall for his age. Lanky too. “But you’re just a kid.”

Oliver recoiled, resenting that. Kids don’t survive the apocalypse. “Not anymore.” He smiled dryly, his gaze towards the grass and away from the sun. A cough bubbled in his throat and he turned and started to walk back to the prison when Carl spoke up again.

“Are you going to stay?”

He paused and glanced over his shoulder at Rick, who was bent over and pouring fruit into the pig's trowel. “I hope so.”

Rick ignored his gaze, his eyes fixated on the pig pen. “As long as you don’t do anything, try anything, this is your home now. If you want. The council agreed this morning.”

Oliver tried not to show his relief at having somewhere to stay. Warmth filled his veins, and a true smile made its way illegally onto his lips. “Thanks.”

 

\--


	3. Chapter 3

\--

Oliver was sat in his cell, fiddling with the cover of a book that Mika had given him, concentrating hard on making sure he was grabbing the book and not the air. The young girl had shoved it along with a bunch of blankets and a pair of clothes into his arms. Along with her came her older sister and a blonde girl a few years older than he was.

Apparently, there were around ten children at the prison, including a baby. Rick’s kid. Carl’s sister.

The adults scared him a bit, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that knowing that there were families here made him feel safer - as if it was further justification that the people here were good. That they wouldn’t do to him what the claimers did to Emily.

The blonde girl, Beth, held baby Judith, both smiling sweetly as the four kids sat on the floor of the cell playing with a deck of ratted cards Oliver had kept at the bottom of his basically empty pack.

“How many kids are my age here?” Oliver asked Beth as she passed out seven cards for each child. Oliver missed the deck a few times before Beth lightly placed them into his palm.

She shrugged, gathering her cards together and fixing Judith on her lap. “Carl’s a bit younger than you, I say a few months at most. Lizzie here,” Beth nodded towards Mika’s older sister, “is like twelve or something. Patrick’s fifteen or something. Acts like he’s a child though. Don’t know ‘bout Dani. I think she is about Patrick's age, but I’m not sure. Ask Carl. You have any eights, Liz?”

“Go fish.”

“Damn.”

“Language!”

“Language!”

He startled, not expecting someone to reply at the same time as him. He shot his head up at the newcomer; a slightly older woman, who leaned against the door of the cell, the smile on her face teasing.

“Hi.”

He grimaced. God. Hi? Oliver, you are a disaster.

“I’m Carol. You’re Oliver?” The woman's kind smile put his anxiety at ease.

Oliver nodded, smiling slightly back at her. Carol glanced over at the kids next to him as if making sure they were all alive, smiled, and left. Not much of a talker he guessed.

“Oliver!” Mika whined in a high pitched voice. “I asked you if you had any twos!”

Grinning, he turned back around and with a taunting sort of voice, said, “Go fish!”

“Aw shucks!”

 

\--

 

“Ouch…” Oliver winced as the doctor, Hershel peeled back his dirty bandage.

He lay in his bed with about a dozen pillows under his head, his arms stuck underneath him because he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t accidentally hit Hershel in reflex. Not that he wouldn’t miss.

“Be glad it hurts, boy. Pain means you’re alive, and truth be told, without proper medical treatment you would’ve died.”

Oliver gulped, his palms sweating slightly. “Great. Wonderful. Any chance I’m gonna die now?”

Hershel's eyebrows twisted. “I shouldn’t think so, but you never know in this world.”

He didn’t have the energy to respond and instead shut his eyes. He bit his lip as Hershel started to unwrap the blood-soaked white bandage from his head. The man groaned softly as if he was trying to keep it from Oliver’s notice.

But he did notice. He straightened, fists clenching. His eyes opened to stare at the man's face. “What? What’s wrong?"

“Son, can you see out of your left eye?”

What an odd question. Oliver scoffed slightly, wanting to get to the main point. “Well no, ‘cause you still haven’t taken the bandage off all the way.”

His heart beat in his eyes, deafening him. The world could’ve stopped. A dead thing could’ve walked into the room and killed them both and he wouldn’t have noticed. Because he was to busy staring at the blood-soaked rag in Hershel's hand. The whole rag.

His eye wasn’t working.

He jumped slightly, pulling his heads out from underneath him and grabbed his face, ignoring the large amount of pain that occupied it.

And he felt it. The thick, jagged scar that ran from the corner of his left eye, across his eye, and then down towards his ear.

The knife had cut him more than he thought.

“Can I see a mirror.” Even to him, his voice sounded rough, exhausted. On the verge of tears. Which, in truth, he was.  

Hershel paused, searching for something in his expression. Finally, he nodded, grunting as he stood up from the chair, his prosthetic clearly bothering him. Oliver felt an immense feeling of guilt at making the man move more than he has to, just for him.

His hands traced the brutal scar down his eye, a few tears escaping both eyes. At least he knows that he can still cry. That’s the only thing that he has done at this point.

When Hershel returned, Oliver didn’t think he was ready to see his reflection. He certainly wasn’t ready to look in the mirror and not recognize who was on the other side of it.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a reflection of himself. The bathrooms of the high school that he and Emily had stayed in before had been blocked off, with the pair of them having to construct their own.

His hair was short thanks to Emily, who insisted on monthly haircuts for both of them. Something about keeping one thing from their old life.

He looked older. Not like himself. Not like how he should look.

The most jarring aspect of his image was the thick knife scar that went across his left eye. The scar got thinner as it went across, disappearing at his ear. Was it noticeable? Heck yeah, it was noticeable.

His fingers ghosted over the raised skin, his hands shaking. His eye wasn’t torn out like he had been fearing, but it was barely scratched, a fine line could be seen across his iris and cornea, the blackness of his iris barely leaking out of the normal circular shape. His eye was slightly fuzzy as if he had disrupted something internal.

If only he had ducked when the guy came after him, or maybe even leaned back half a centimeter. Such a small thing effected so dang much.

And then he was crying. Heavily, ugly sobs that shook his chest. He hid his face in his hands as he tried to contain his crying. So what if he would never be able to see properly again? At least he wasn’t dead.  

Even logic didn’t help him.

He was still a kid, he reasoned, he was allowed to cry.

Oliver laughed. He doubted that Mika or Lizzie or that young boy Luke and his sister had ever cried like this since this whole thing started.

He was too sheltered.

A dark image of Emily being pulled into a closet emerged and before he could throw up he shoved it back down. No. Not sheltered. Weak.

That statement was further proven when he felt tiny arms around his waist and saw Mika hugging him, to calm him down. 

Oliver blushed and looked down, his sobs quieting yet tears still ran down his face. He gripped her hands, smiling sadly.

“To make you feel better, I think you look cool. You have a ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe now.” Mika grinned. “Please don’t keep the bandage on. Trust me, it looks worse with it on.”

He nodded uncommittedly. “Thanks, Mika.”

Oliver didn’t know a lot of things. Heck, his grades in public school was a perfect marker for how much he understood life - not that life before is in any way similar to life now. But what he did know was that he finally found a home.

 

\--


	4. Chapter 4

\--

The next few days went slow, and Oliver supposed that that was a good thing. Slow meant safe. At least in his experience. He spent his mornings helping Beth with Judith and he also watched Hershel do his thing to learn a few things from him. Or something.

His foster brother had been a nurse and he imparted some knowledge of the medical arts to Oliver before he died. Not that he remembered most of it. David’s lessons weren’t much use to him when he didn't have supplies, as he had noticed with his eye.

He nearly died from an infection. Imagine that - in a world-ending event, the thing that takes out Oliver would be a regular old sickness.

He scrubbed his hands clean after helping Beth change Judith and stepped outside to find Mika and Lizzie. Mika had become quite close to him, and Lizzie was always with her sister, which was surprising to him as she was so much younger than he was.

He shielded his eyes from the sun and stepped outside slowly, going as fast as he dared to the safety of the shade. He nearly ran into the water barrel in his attempt to sit down on the bench. His depth perception was still very wonky, and Hershel said it would take a bit more time for him to get used to everything.

Oliver put his head on his hands and grinned at Carol, who was helping organize the food. He set his cane thing against the table, carefully making sure that he didn’t lean it against air.

“What do you want, child.” She rolled her eyes at him, not pausing her work.

“Can I not have a conversation with you without assumptions about an ulterior motive? I feel wounded.” Oliver blinked innocently at her.

She had a right to be suspicious. The last time they had talked it was a distraction so Mika could grab some extra apples. Not that she knew that, of course. 

“Big words.”

Oliver stuck out his bottom lip, faking sadness. Carol threw an apple slice at him, which bounced off his chest.

“What do you want.”

Oliver grinned cheekily. “Do you have the book you were reading to Lizzie and Mika? I don’t know what it’s called but it was good, and I think I’ve read all the books Mika lent me like seven times over.”

Carol thought for a moment, not pausing her work. “Peter Pan. I think Daniella had it last. Go ask her. Now scram, I have to go tell some people that they’re doing things wrong.”

Daniella was an interesting person. He knew next to nothing about her, except for the fact that she and Carl were best friends. Despite the year or two age difference, one was almost always with the other. She helped Rick and Carl with the farming, and she took care of Judith every night.

And apparently, she read classic novels as well.

“Yeah, okay. Thanks. Have fun”

A sharp smile and she was gone. Down the line, scolding people who couldn't peel a potato.

He stood up, grabbed the apple slice with some difficulty, and carefully walked across the courtyard, using his cane and making sure he didn’t bump into anything. Hershel said soon he wouldn’t even need the cane.

Oliver squinted again the light to get a proper look at the farm. No Carl. No Daniella.

He made his way back inside and into the cell block that she stayed in, leaning heavily against the thick wood. Judith cooed in the background and a couple of snores could be heard from inside the cells. “Daniella?” Oliver called out softly and said girl popped her head out of the cell that she and Judith shared.

“Yes…”

Oliver walked closer, nearly missing the door, and found her sitting on her bed, reading one of her books. “Um. Hi. I heard that Carol let you borrow Peter Pan?”

He silently cursed his awkwardness; why was it so hard for him to be normal? 

The girl nodded, her dark brown eyes not moving from his face. Oliver blushed significantly, convinced she was staring at his ugly scar.

He shielded his eye by combing some of his hair down to cover it. Her eyes didn’t move and he suddenly felt very stupid. No one cares about your stupid eye, Oliver!

“Mhm. You want it?” Her accent was interesting, not super thick, but it wasn’t unnoticeable. Definitely something he hadn't heard before.

Oliver nodded, his eyes going to her forehead, the floor, her nose, anything but her eyes. Nothing he hated more than eye contact, especially when he didn’t really know the person.

“Yeah.”

Daniella smiled tightly, falling to the floor and digging a roughly used green book from under a stack of other books.

“I didn’t know you like reading so much.” He commented, mentally kicking himself for being the curious yet socially inept person that he was.

Daniella rolled her eyes, “You don’t know me good. But yeah. Love reading. My sister read to me a lot before.” Grimacing slightly, she tossed him the book.

Oliver nodded, not sure how to respond. “Thanks.” He held the book up and side-stepped to leave the cell, praying that he didn’t fall on his butt and get even more embarrassed.

“Wait.”

He froze, barely turning his head to look back at her cell. Her dark hair was pulled haphazardly into a ponytail - it had the same energy as her sitting position, all over the place and uncaring.  

“Call me Dani.” She leaned back against the bed frame.

Oliver’s eyebrows twisted up. “What?”

She smiled. “Friends call me Dani.”

“Is that what we are?”

“If you want.” She pushed herself up on to the bed, shutting her eyes as if she hadn’t slept in weeks. “People need people. The world’s lonelier without.”

He couldn’t find any fault to her argument, and he didn't exactly know how to respond, so Oliver just nodded - not that she could see - and left.

\--


	5. Chapter 5

\--

Oliver jolted awake. His eyes shot opened and he gripped the bed frame, his shirt damp from sweat. His chest hurt. He placed a palm over his heart and tried to slow his breathing.

Faint colorless pictures disappeared from his mind, slipped through his fingers like water until he remembered nothing from his dream. Whatever it had been about probably wasn’t good.

Oliver sat up and rubbed his eyes, ignoring the twinge of pain from his left eye. He stood up slowly, glancing out the door of his cell to realize that it still was dark out. Very dark. It probably was very early in the morning.

In a split second decision, he forgoes the cane and quietly left the safety of his cell, bumping into the door again. He kept a hand on the cool cement wall, not exactly sure where he was walking.

Leaving the cell block, he shut his eyes, feeling the cool air on his face. It was frigid and smooth and suddenly he felt as if he had been suffocated, and he was suddenly free.

Oliver figured it was the shifty mushroom he eaten at dinner.  

He stepped out onto the courtyard, slowly opened the gate, and slipped inside before shutting it behind him. Oliver went in a ways before he settled on a patch of grass. He laid back, eyes up at the stars. He didn’t know the names of the constellations, but they still fascinated him.

He didn’t know how long he had been outside when he heard footsteps by his head. Glancing up, he saw a bedraggled Carl hugging a blanket like it was his lifeline. “Oliver. What are you doing here?”

Oliver smirked, scooting over slightly so Carl could lay beside him, internally confused at his own movements as he and the Grimes child had only had a few interactions since he’d arrived at the prison. “I could ask you the same thing, Grimes.”

Carl wrinkled his nose as he faced the sky. “Why 'Grimes.'?”

“It’s your name, isn’t it?”

Carl rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. You still didn’t answer my question.”

Oliver traced a shape in the sky with his good eye, making his own constellations. “Just woke up. Wanted to take a walk. You?”

“Same.”

There was comfortable silence. One of the warm ones where he didn’t feel pressured into saying something. Something that normally embarrassed him. Yet, he _wanted_ to talk. To ask questions.

“Do you come out here much?” Oliver blew a strand of his hair out of his face.

Carl frowned. “Out here? Kinda. Just depends.” He paused as if contemplating his next question. Oliver tensed, not wanting to answer any deep thought provoking question the boy might ask. 

“What’s your favorite color?”

Oliver started laughing, the good kind of laughter that started in the base of his stomach and exited in loud heaves, shaking his whole body. The simplicity and innocence of the question had completely thrown him off guard. It was refreshing.

Carl took his laughter to heart, blushing and frowning. “What? It’s a perfectly valid question for when you want to get to know someone.”

Oliver smiled softly. “Not that. It’s just - I haven’t heard that in a while and it's good. Real good.” He didn’t mention the fact that Carl seemed so cold to him over the time he had been there, and the question had been completely out of character.

Although he supposed, contradictions were a part of life.

They said nothing for a beat until Oliver realized that Carl had asked an actual question that he was supposed to answer. “I love yellow.”

“Yellow?” Carl cried in disbelief, scrunching his nose up. “That’s the color of piss!”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Don’t say  _that_! It’s also the color of the sun, bees and flowers. Happy things.”

“Happy things, he says,” Carl mumbled almost incoherently.

Oliver laughed and reached over to hit the other boy. “Shut up! What about you, huh?”

Carl’s answer was quick as if he had been asked this a million times. “Blue. Like the ocean, or the sky or somethin’.”

“Those are two very different shades of blue, Grimes. Ya sure you’re not colorblind? Anyway, blue, that’s so boring. That’s literally everyone’s answer.” Oliver paused. “Well, that and green.”

Carl scoffed, ignoring the colorblind comment. “Yeah, everyone chooses it ‘cause it’s the best color.”

“Nah. That can’t be it.”

“Whatever Oliver.”

“Whatever _Grimes_.”

“Shut up!” And that time it was Carl who hit Oliver on the arm.

 

\--


	6. Chapter 6

\--

Weeks had passed. Almost every other night the pair would sneak out and lay on the grass, talking about stupid things from food to questions about the world before. The sleep deprivation was worth it, he figured.

He was happy that he gained a new friend, even one as annoying as Carl.

No, Carl wasn't really annoying, not always. Oliver annoyed Grimes more than the other way around. Mostly by calling him by his last name. It was a fun little game, one Oliver enjoyed very much.

That morning was the first day that he didn’t have to use his cane, as Hershel had cleared him the night before, and he was very ecstatic about that. While he definitely was grateful that he even had the opportunity to use a cane, the dang thing was annoying.

He had endured enough taunts from Mika and Carl about being ‘Old man Oli’. He refused to tell the pair what his last name was just to avoid being called the same thing his late grandfather had been called.

He walked happily through the cell block, running his hands along the familiar walls. Being in the same place for weeks and knowing where everything was placed was the main reason he didn't need the cane anymore. He didn't bump into the doors and walls as much. It wasn't as if he was ever going to leave this place.

He still had problems grabbing and throwing things and had to concentrate very hard whenever he practiced stitches with Hershel.

Oliver doubted that he would ever be a good shot, but then again he wasn't good even when he had two eyes. 

His ankle was much better, however, and he couldn't deny that his depth perception was too.

Oliver knocked on Mika and Lizzie’s cell door as he did most mornings, and then lead the younger girls to breakfast. They were tired and grumbled a bit, rubbing their eyes.

While Mika was much younger than him, she and Carl were pretty much his only friends at the prison. Lizzie came attached with Mika. He didn’t think Lizzie liked him very much.

The other kids were either way too young (like a little kid named Luke and his sister), too immature (like Patrick and this kid named Neal), or too old (like Beth, her boyfriend, Zach, and a girl named Cleo).

Mika was different. He couldn’t tell you why, but something about her innocence reminded him of something. Better times, maybe.

Carl was different too. Special. 

He carefully slid into a seat next to Dani, who smiled tightly before continuing to eat her breakfast in silence, Judith bouncing on her lap. 

She said that they were friends, but Oliver guessed that it might’ve been a gesture of goodwill more than a genuine offer of friendship. They hadn’t talked much since that day.

Mika dashed to the open spot next to him, while Lizzie went to go sit next to one of the younger kids that he didn’t know very well. The girls’ talked animated with the younger kids while he shoved some bread into his mouth.

The small boy, Luke, grinned and mentioned something about a game he played with the walkers, throwing some of his unwanted food at them. At that point, Oliver decided to keep an eye on the boy's plate and make sure that all uneaten food went straight back to Carol.

Lizzie suddenly frowned, her eyes sad. “Would they get sick? Ya know, if we gave them bad food?”

Oliver huffed. “It wouldn’t matter Lizzie. They eat humans. Alive and dead ones. They can’t get sick because they are also dead. Don’t think anything could make a difference. ”

Returning to his meal, he saw the way that she clenched her fists at his words and decided to talk to Carol about her. Oliver had definitely noticed her odd presumptions about the walkers and didn’t know if she realized that they were bad. She was young and sheltered.

He exchanged a confused glance with Dani, who shrugged her shoulders, muttering something he couldn’t understand.

As if to relieve the tension, Mika grinned up at up, nudging his side. “I had the weirdest dream last night, Oliver!” Mika’s eyes were wide and her smile bright. An innocence he hadn’t seen in a long while.

Oliver took a huge bite of his apple. “Wh’t was ‘t ‘bout.” His mouth was full, and Dani shot him an exaggerated look of disgust.

Mika wrinkled her nose at him. “Well, like everyone was in it. Dani was an annoying talking mushroom.”

“Well, she is the aberrant one.” Lizzie interrupted as if Dani wasn’t there, trying to show off her vocabulary. 

The girl in question looked about ready to throw her spoon at Lizzie. Dani must have misunderstood the girl, thinking she’d been called something way more offensive.

“Lizzie was a plant, I think.” Mika turned to him, continuing her story. “You were like that annoying narrator voice that was in movies in the before, and you were telling a story about a fish. My dad was a seal that hated Carol, who was a pink dinosaur, and Carl was just Carl but like...upside down? Like his face wasn’t right.”

“What the hell did they put in your food last night, Mika?” Carl joined in at the oddest of times, sitting down across from them with the funniest expression on his face. His lips were twisted and his eyes bright.

Dani glared at Lizzie, muttering something to Carl under her breath. “ _A putinha me chamou de 'aberrant' - o que diabos isso significa?”_

_“Nada, Dani.”_

Oliver tsked, shaking his head at the boy, ignoring the confusing words coming out of Dani's mouth. “Language Grimes.”

“Shut up  _old man oli._ ” Carl sneered playfully.

Oliver grinned brightly, flicking a crumb at the boy. “Not an old man anymore! Hershel says that I can stop using the stick now.”

Carl frowned and placed his hand over his heart very dramatically, “Poor Susan the stick. He didn’t deserve you, Oliver.”

“I’m gonna miss Susan!” Mika wiped a fake tear from her eye.

Oliver laughed loud and bubbly and _happy;_  his cheeks bright red at the attention he was reviving from curious adults down the bench. 

“ _Meu Deus,_ you guys are dramatic.” Dani rolled her eyes, her grin betraying her real feelings. She still wouldn't look at Lizzie.

“Yeah, yeah whatever Dani. But Carl, why the heck did you name my stick Susan?”

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out bucko.”

 

\--

 

Oliver held baby Judith tight to his chest. Her face was sleepy and adorable, her blonde tuffs of hair brushing his nose. He was taking over for Beth as she wanted to go make out or whatever with Zach. Fine by him. He liked kids.

He sat in a chair in the main part of the cell block, and slowly rocked her back and forth softly, not wanting to wake her. He hummed a soft tune, one that he forgot the origin of. A soft tune; hopeful and a little sad. 

“You’re good with her.”

Oliver didn’t have to turn to see who it was. He smiled softly, caught up in the moment. "Yeah. I used to hold my baby siblings whenever my foster parents went out. David, my older foster brother, never really liked kids. Stuck me with them, but I didn’t mind ‘cause they are so cute aren’t they?” Oliver raised his tone of voice and snuggled in closer to the baby.

He tried not to think of what had happened to his little siblings. That was the past. He couldn't live in the past; not anymore.

“You’re an orphan?”

Oliver smiled dryly, playing with Judy's tiny baby fist. “Most people are orphans nowadays, Carl.”

He could feel the other boy roll his eyes as he pulled up a chair and sat next to them. “I meant before, genius.”

“Uh huh. Never knew my parents. Overdosed I think. Don’t really care, I was young. Judith’s age I think. Then I was taken in by the Johnsons."

Oliver shifted, switching which arm Judy laid on. "What color do you think will be her favorite when she’s older?”

Carl let his obvious change of subject slide, thinking deeply about his answer.

“Orange, definitely. It’s the color of sunrises. New things.”

 

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A putinha me chamou de 'aberrant' - o que diabos isso significa? - The little bitch called me aberrant? What the hell does that mean? 
> 
> Nada - Nothing
> 
> Meu Deus - My God


	7. Chapter 7

\-- 

 

One night, over a month after their first real conversation, their topic of the night centered around gross would you rather questions. They laid on the slightly damp grass upwind from the pig pens, staring up at the partially cloudy night sky.

That night Oliver was particularly enchanted by a star that seemed to be slightly reddish. He ignored the pain in his left eye and resisted the urge to rub at it furiously. 

“Okay, okay. My turn. Would you rather...eat one of Daryl’s squirrels raw...or eat cat food? I’ve eaten both, so I know which one is better.” Carl turned his head towards Oliver, awaiting his answer.

Oliver scrunched up his nose. “That is  _disgusting_ by the way. Err...um... probably cat food. I’d plug my nose and down the whole thing.”

“Ewww!”

Oliver shoved the other boy’s shoulder. “You asked!”

“But like a raw squirrel is literally just meat! You never know what the hell is in cat food.”

“Language! And I hate squirrel. Ugh. It’s horrible. I’d only ever eat it if I was actually dying.”

Carl laughed, elbowing Oliver in the ribs. “Well, I’ll add that to the growing list of ‘Reasons why Oliver is a weirdo.’”

“Why must you be so mean,” Oliver whined, placing a hand on his heart. “Why…”

“Shut it! Now ask me a question.”

Oliver grinned, snickering slightly. “Would you rather...be able to become indivisible, or be able to fly?”

Carl paused. “Okay, that is not a gross question like we discussed.”

Oliver shrugged. “So what? I thought it was pretty interesting.”

“Whatever. Real world or before?”

Oliver thought for a second, his hands toying with the hem of his shirt. “Both.”

They were silent for a beat, and Oliver felt an emotion surge through his chest when he realized that Carl was actually thinking about the question and not just spouting some random answer.

“First; real world. Indivisibility, definitely. I mean, the Walkers wouldn’t be able to see you and neither would people if they were unfriendly. You could waltz in someplace, loot the whole thing and get out and no one would see you.” Carl gesture wildly with his hands, his voice boisterous.

Then his voice grew softer and far more childlike. How he probably would’ve sounded like before. “Second; before. Flight. I’ve always wanted to fly. I’ve never been on an airplane or anything, so I have no idea what it’d be like.” Carl paused, smiling at the sky. “But I’ve always wanted to do it. Just for the fun of it.”

Carl then twitched, returning back to normal. “Weird, right.”

Oliver shook his head, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Carl. “Not weird.”

Carl grinned at him, showing his teeth.

He resisted the urge to grab the other boy’s arm and instead continued to stare at the stars.

The red one was gone.

 

\--

 

“Hey, Oliver!”

He looked up from his work and smiled at Michonne who was walking towards him. Oliver stood up and jogged over to her, hugging her quickly. They’d met multiple times over the past two or so months that he’d been in the prison. 

Most of that time she was out scavenging and looking for this guy named Phillip or something. Whenever she was out, she’d look for candy and comics for Oliver and Carl. Oliver would try and get her the best fruits in return but she wouldn’t have it.

“Hey ‘chonne! Did you just get back?”

She nodded, pulling out a chair and plopping herself down. Oliver sat back down in his chair, putting away the cloth, needle, and thread from before. Herschel was teaching him how to sew up a wound.

“Yeah. Didn’t find much. Mostly soup cans and stale candy.”

He looked up, his curiosity blooming. “Did you find the guy? Or at least a trail?”

Michonne narrowed her eyes at him, her fingers twitching. “What do you mean?”

Oliver cleared his throat, his fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. “You and Daryl are always looking for a guy, right? Carl won’t tell me much about him.”

“Be glad he won't. He wasn’t a good person.”

Oliver leaned forward, not catching on to the fact that Michonne was easily triggered by the man. “Do you think he’s dead? Will you kill him if you catch him? What was his name?”

Michonne grimaced, standing up slowly. “Enough questions.” She paused. “He was called the Governor, and if I see him, I will kill him.”

Oliver nodded slowly, lost in thought. He wondered what this Governor guy had done that was so horrible.

She cleared her throat. “Actually, that’s not why I came over here.” She paused and pulled a bunch of comics out of her saddlebag.

Oliver jumped up and hugged her quickly before reaching out and grasping the wonderful pieces of paper. “Oh my god, thank you!” He flipped through them quickly. “Yes! And they’re colored too!”

Michonne raised her eyebrows at him. “So now you’re getting picky?”

His eyes widened as he clutched the comics to his chest. “No! Just Carl likes those better.”

She smiled. “Better go find him then.”

Oliver nodded and spun around, “Thank you!” He ran all the way to C Block and he and Carl spent the next week reading the ten comics that she’d found.

 

\--


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to the very beginning - in Dani's perspective. 
> 
> A little different but I hope you guys like it!

\--

 

The sounds scared her. The growling, the moaning, the scratching. Like animals. No, not animals. People. Dead people. Dead people who could walk, and bite, and eat. At least that’s what Gabbie told her.

 _“Fique longe deles, Dani, eles vão te machucar. Não as pessoas mais.”_ She told her one night as they hid in the closet.

Dani didn’t know how she knew this, but she did as her sister asked. She stayed in the closet. Ate the food. Waited for her sister to come back from the outside. Gabbie was trying to find help, she said. She looked for food and medicine. A working car.

Their car had broken down months ago. Her dad had always meant to fix it but never had. He was always like that.

The sound of broken glass shattered through her dreams. Dani stood up, shaking, and crept further back into the closet, hoping that whoever or whatever had just entered the house would never find her.

“Okay. Okay. Grab food, blankets, first aid. Pack a bag with your stuff. Do it quickly, do it quietly.” A man's voice echoed through the small house and sent shivers down her spine. It was her father's voice, she was sure of it.

She pounded on the closet, willing her dad to unlock it, to pull her into his arms and say that everything was going to be fine. That the sickness would pass. That everything was a dream.

But that didn’t happen.

“Maria! Don’t go into that closet. Seems like someone locked a dead one in there.”

Tears streamed down her face as she pounded harder, screaming for her family's attention. But the soundproofed closet (courtesy of her sister) only let out but a low moan, further proving the hypothesis that there was a dead one in the closet.

“No! It’s me! It’s Daniella!”

But to no avail. The one thing that was made to keep her safe, was the thing that kept her from finding her family again. They had left on a trip days before it started, and it was a once in a lifetime opportunity that they had come back. And they couldn’t even hear her.

“Henry! I found a pile of food in the laundry room!”

Dani fell, collapsing to the floor. That was her mother’s voice. They both were alive. They were here. But they weren’t coming for her.

She knew that she couldn't get out. She knew that they wouldn’t come in. So she listened to her family's voices, voices that she probably wouldn’t hear until this whole thing ended.

Her uncle spoke next, “Henry, Maria, we have to go now. D.C won’t wait for nobody.”

“Why D.C again? Atalanta is so much closer and they’ll have military back up, Luiz!” Her mother whispered although it sounded like shouting in her ears.

“Shut the hell up, Maria. I know what is best for this family, alright?”

“Not even the whole family! What of Daniella, Gabriella? What of them, Luiz? What of my daughters? Do we just leave them!”

“Yes! You  _cadela_! They are most likely dead, and even if they were alive we need to think about ourselves! We need to think about Diogo! He’s just a child! Barely seven years old!”  

“ _Daniella_ is just a child! Gabbie is seven months pregnant! We can’t leave them! _Eu não posso deixar meus bebês!"_  Her mother screamed, her voice raw and all Dani could do was pound the door of the closet, choking on her own tears as she screamed. They couldn’t leave her, they couldn't.

Her father sighed, “Maria, we have to leave. Diogo! Let’s go!”

"Coming, daddy!" The sound of her baby brother alive nearly broke her. 

And with the door being kicked open with a bang, and her mother’s loud sobs, her family left her home. Left her.

Dani was still crying in the closet when she heard her sister come back. She pounded on the door with a furious vigor; she needed to get out so they could look for their family, so they could be together again.

That plan was thrown out the window when as soon as her sister unlocked the closet, she collapsed. Dani froze, watching blood drip from a wound on her neck. Drip down her shirt and pooling on her large stomach.

Gabbie wheezed, coughing up blood. Her skin was pale, her eyes dark and distant. She was dying, Dani realized.

“N-no...no...n-no.” She fell to the floor, hands shaking and desperately tried to wipe up the blood. She put pressure on the wound, which was a bleeding mess, just as her sister told her to do.

Nothing helped. The blood just continued to spill from between her fingers. “No...n-no…” Her tears mixed with her sister's blood as she struggled to stay awake, her hands twitching from the floor.

“...Dani…”

She shook her head violently. “No...no...d-don’t try and speak. I-it’ll make things worse.” Dani tore off her sweater and pressed it to the wound, cursing herself for not doing that in the first place.

“Dani...d-do you have t-the knife that I f-found for you?” Her sister groaned as if talking hurt more than the actual wound. She nodded quickly, grasping her sister's hand with one of hers.

“Survive, Dani. They are n-not people. Kill t-them before y-you. The h-head, Dani. They o-only die from the h-head.” Her sister chuckled dryly. “I l-learned that the h-hard way.” Her sister pointedly looked at the wound on her neck, grimacing as she did so.

Dani peeled back the blood-soaked sweater and nearly fainted. A bite wound the size of her fist sat on her sister's neck. A death sentence. “No...no...y-you can’t b-be bitten...no!” Sobs shook her whole body, her breath came out in huffs as she tried to calm herself.

“H-hey! Hey, It’s o-okay.” Her sister weakly grasped her hands, smiling brighter than she should be. “You...you are g-going to make it. I w-will be smiling down a-at you forever, w-watching you beat this c-curse of God. _Meu Deus_ , y-you are strong, w-with or w-without me.”

Dani nodded frantically, grasping tighter to her fading sisters' hands, longing for more time. “ _Eu te amo muito, minha irmã.”_

 _“Eu te amo também.”_ Her sister coughed, spraying blood on her face, not that Dani noticed. Gabbie slowly reached down and pulled her own knife from her jean pocket. “Y-you have to k-kill me, Dani. The h-head. Only t-the head. I c-can’t do it. Don’t let m-me turn i-into one of  _t-them_. P-please.”

Dani froze. No. No. She couldn’t kill her sister. No. No. And then she was sobbing all over again, her shoulders shaking, her hands furiously wiping away the tears the poured down her face. “Please. No. There m-must be a c-cure.”

“No cure. Please.”

Dani grasped the knife in her shaking hands and leaned over the fallen body of her sister. “I’m s-sorry.” She shakily wrapped her arms around her sister's bloody neck, hugging her tightly to her own chest.

The knife went in with a crunch that would forever appear in her nightmares. Dani sat up, still clutching the limp body of her older sister. And she cried.

Dani didn’t know how long she sat like that, broken and bloody on the kitchen floor. Time could’ve stopped. A dead one would have entered and killed her. Why would she care? Her family was dead or gone.

Why was she even gonna try?

Dani had stopped crying a while back. Either she had run out of tears or she was broken. She stared blankly at the blood coated silver knife that was her sisters. It was still embedded in the beautiful dark hair that her sister once had.

A ripping sound and a low moan interrupted her thoughts, and the sight nearly sent her spiraling back into the dark. A baby, the baby that would’ve been her wonderful niece was crawling out of her sister's dead body. Its eyes were blank and dark. It’s mouth wide and its fingers covered in blood from clawing at the inside of its mother.

Dani nearly puked.

The dead baby waved its arms in the attempt to fully be out of the stomach, it's gums snapping together.

With a crunch, she pulled the knife out of her sister, and gently put it through her niece.

Both now lay dead, together, on the cool tile flooring. They were together in heaven, at least.

Dani stood up and shakily walked up the stairs to take a shower. Blood swirled down the drain. Shampo stung her eyes and she let it. Penance for killing two of her family. 

 _Not alive._ Her sister's voice told her.

No, not alive, she amended.

After her long shower, she carefully washed her sister's knife, placing it at the bottom of her backpack. She had her own knife to use. That one, she kept hidden. She filled the pack with clothes and blankets and a spare tent that they had in their garage, as well as food and medicine that her parents that left behind.

She had watched enough survival shows when the world was working to know what to pack. How to use it and not die was another story. Maybe she could get the car to work.

 _Yes, and drive it off a cliff._ Her sister's voice chided her.

No. She couldn’t drive. Shouldn't. Dani didn’t think there were any rules left. At least for a while. The world had to get better someday.

Dani opened the kitchen window, letting the breeze flow through her hair, taking one last look at her family's house, the backyard where she and Diogo would play, and the treehouse that Gabbie helped make.

“Shane, we have to check, please.” Dani’s head jerked to the side, staring at her neighbor's house. The Grimes.

“No, Lori. We have to go now, we can’t be in charge of somebody else’s kid.”

“Please, Shane. I’ve known her since she was a baby; she’s Carl’s best friend.” Dani scrambled off the counter, grabbing her bag and racing to the front door of her house. That was Lori. The Grimes. They were here. She wasn’t alone.“Lori! Lori! Lori!” Dani screamed as she tore through her house and across the lawn. The woman in question slammed open the front door, and then Dani was in her arms, shaking.

A second, smaller pair of arms wrapped around her and she knew it was Carl. “Dani!” They stayed like that for a beat, and when they pulled apart she wiped a single tear from her cheek. Warmth flooded her veins as she grasped onto the hands of her best friend. 

“Can I come with you, please!” Dani begged, pointing at her backpack. “I’m already packed, see! I don’t care where you’re going!”

“We’re going to Atlanta, and yes, yes, of course, you’re coming-” Lori started, nodding frantically as if confused why anyone would say no.

Shane, the big man that had always scared her a little whenever he would come over, coughed. “Where’s your family, Daniella? Shouldn't you be with them?” Lori hit his arm.

Dani sniffled to make sure she wouldn’t cry again. “My sisters dead. The rest of my family left. Can I come?”

Lori grabbed her by the shoulders and rushed her and Carl back into the house, glaring at Shane. “Yes, of course. You are family. Family sticks together, alright? You have to listen to  _everything_ Shane and I say, alright? Anything you wanna say before we head off to Atlanta?”

Dani paused, grasping tight to her best friends hand. “The head. You have to hit them in the head.”

 

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Tell me if you guys want more Dani flashbacks, alright?
> 
> Fique longe deles, Dani, eles vão te machucar. Não as pessoas mais - Stay away from them, Dani, they will hurt you. Not people anymore
> 
> Cadela - Bitch
> 
> Eu não posso deixar meus bebês - I can't leave my babies
> 
> Eu te amo muito, minha irmã - I love you so much, my sister


	9. Chapter 9

\--

 

“Do you miss your parents?” Oliver was sitting atop one of the benches while Carol was picking through the fruits and veggies, looking for the best ones to cook. His eye stung when the bright sun hit it causing him to lean into the shadow.

Carol didn’t pause her work, but her face scrunched up slightly. “They passed many years before all this, and I’m glad they didn’t have to see this world.”

Oliver nodded, accepting that she didn't like the question, and took a bite of a slightly bruised yellow apple.

Carol didn’t verbally ask the same question, but instead raised her eyebrow at him, willing him to talk. Apparently, it was obvious that he needed to vent.

“I miss my foster parents a whole bunch. My mom was a good person. Really nice. That’s probably why she didn’t last long. She lasted longer than my dad, though.” Oliver paused to rub his eyes.

“Don't know what happened to my younger siblings. They were at daycare or something when it started. My brother died a bit after my parents, and then it was just his girlfriend, Emily, and I.”

“I didn’t ask for your story, Oliver.”

“I know. But If I don’t say it, then it’s not real, and then I can never move on. At least that’s what Beth says.” Oliver stared at his nails, picking at them.

Carol shook her head, tsking. “Don’t listen to that girl all the time. She’s just a child. You say it when you’re ready.”

“I’m not ready.”

“I know.”

 

\--

 

Oliver was stretched out on his bunk, reading one of the comic books that Carl had lent him. It was one of the better ones that they had in their collection, despite the somewhat crinkled edges and coffee stains. In his opinion, comic books were better than books.

He didn’t know how he’d spent his entire life without them. He liked the superhero ones the best, even if Carl thought that they were boring and repetitive. No one insulted the spiderman comics.

“Really? You’re reading that again?” Carl had stepped into the cell, hair in his eyes.

Oliver laughed a bit. “It’s good. And I wouldn’t judge; you like the Archie Comics. Bleh.”

The boy snarled, his eyes bright and blue, and stomped further into the cell. “Archie comics might be old fashioned, but they’re good!”

“Yeah, good for old people! My _mom_ read those comics!” Oliver giggled slightly.

Carl straightened up as if that proved his point. “Because they’re good!”

“Whatever you say, Grimes. Whatever you say.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, as the next thing Oliver knew, he was buried under a pile of limbs. Carl was laughing loud and happy and it took Oliver a second to realize that the boy had actually pounced on him. He was tickling Oliver. Cold long fingers were brushing over his stomach and digging into his neck. Carl tickled him until Oliver was laughing so hard he was crying and couldn’t speak.

“S-stop! St-stop, Carl!” Oliver wheezed.

Carl grinned like a manic and pinned Oliver's arms underneath his knees. “Nope. Not until you say that Carl Grimes is the best person in the world...and that Archie Comics are the best.”

Oliver literally couldn’t think as the abuse went on. “F-fine! Carl Grimes is the best! And so is Archie Comics!” He screamed the last bit out, trying to get it over with.

At last, his best friend relented and Oliver jumped backward, hitting the wall, and blocked his stomach and neck from further tickles. “No more.”

Carl couldn’t stop laughing, clutching his own side. “Yeah, yeah.” A beat went by where Oliver was attempting to catch his breath, while Carl was simply trying to stop laughing. When at last the remaining giggles subsided, Carl plopped himself down closer to Oliver on the bed, ignoring the way Oliver playfully pretended to slowly get away from him. “I actually didn’t come here to tickle you, ya know.”

Oliver uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, putting his head on his knees. “Oh really? Do tell, young sir.”

“You’re stuck all the way in D block, and everyone else is in C block. You wanna move into my cell? The bunk on top is empty. I swear I won’t tickle you in your sleep.” Carl was determined to stare at the floor.

A warmth filled his chest, his cheeks burned slightly. He nodded quickly - too quickly. “Yeah, yeah! That’d be fun! Like, like a slumber party every night! Heh. As long as you promise no tickles.” Oliver grinned - he’d never had a friend like Carl before, never been so close to someone. It felt good.

“Cross my heart!” Carl copied his grin, his hands twisting themselves. “Dad says that as long as we don’t stay up late every night it's okay!”

Oliver laughed, everything seeming brighter. “Well, don’t know how long _that_ will last.” His eyes then widened. “I have a flashlight! We can read the comics together so we don’t have to take turns when Michonne finds them!”

Carl beamed. “Yes! But I’m only gonna read the good ones. The colored ones. The other comics are hard to like.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Carl!”

“Shut the hell up, Oli.”

“Language, Grimes!”

 

\--


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dani's POV

\--

 

Dani worked alongside Rick pulling more weeds from the garden. They had to clear out a whole new section of the grass area to make room for the new plants they were gonna plant come springtime. Maggie had found a whole lockbox full of seeds; from flowers to tomatoes. Dani giggled in glee just thinking about it, a smile pulling on her taut lips. 

While she liked pretending otherwise, she loved planting things. Like flowers. Food. It didn't matter. 

It was normally quiet work; she and Rick liked the comfortable silence that ensued when it was just the pair of them. Carl somehow always made the room louder. Rick laughed more when his son was in the room. Which was why it was curious to have the quiet. 

She squinted towards the prison, the building blurring slightly, and didn't catch sight of her brother. Just the sun in the sky pointing out that it was nearly midday. 

Carl was late, again apparently.

She glanced over at Rick, not pausing her work, and noted that the man too had noticed the absence of his son. He didn't look that annoyed. Dani rolled her eyes and sighed. Carl probably spent the last night reading comic books until the wee hours of the morning. A small part of her was annoyed that Rick wasn't as peeved as she was.

She wiped sweat from her forehead and tied her thick dark hair back into a ponytail, away from her face.

“You good, Dani?” Rick was kneeling in front of her, large flower in hand, his eyes squinted as a way to keep the sun from them.

She nodded, casting her gaze back at the bush. Dani yanked aggressively at a particularly stubborn weed, pulled it from the hot earth and threw it into the basket by Rick. “ _Claro._ " She coughed. "Yeah.” 

“Carl is late again.” Dani kept her gaze downcast.

“Yeah, I know.” Her head shot up to see Rick's eyes level at the prison before turning to her, eyes dark. “Be glad he has a friend.”

Dani scoffed. “He has me. He always had me.”

Rick waved his knife. “Of course. I mean he has a _guy_ friend his own age. This is good for him. We don’t want to see him like how he was after Lori again, right?”

Dani bit her tongue to keep her from saying that he couldn't talk - he was a mess after his late wife, and nodded, shoving the jealousy down her throat.

“He will always be your brother, alright? But just like how farming and putting away the gun helped him,  _this_ will help him. Be a kid again.” Rick resumed the weeding, hacking furiously at a rather large one.

“Don’t need to lecture me.” She sighed. “I know.”

Rick grunted. “Why are you even farming anyway? I’ve told you a million times go hunting with Daryl or somethin’. Work with Glenn on the scavenging team. Carl and I have got this.”

“I’m here ‘cause I wanna be, got that?” Dani huffed, wiping sweat from her brow, and glared harshly at the bright sun. “And I... _pensamento_...I thought that I was a kid, huh? You alright with sent me out there?”

Rick threw a weed at her and she got hit right in the chest. Rolling her eyes, she threw it right back at him. “You’re fifteen or something. Probably older than that. While I don’t like it at all, you need to learn.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmn.”

Dani laughed awkwardly. “Daryl’s been taking me hunting for months, and Glenn’s already asked if I want to join small scavenges.”

She waited for Rick to get pissed off, to growl, to do anything in the area, but instead, he smiled. “Nice job, Dani.”

Dani smiled, picking up a pile of her weeds and flowers and dumping them into the basket. “Thanks.”

“You know the rules, right?”

“Yup. Knife, gun, partner.”

Rick grinned and reached over to ruffle her hair.

“Wait!” Dani spun around, and there was Carl jogging up to them, surprisingly without Oliver. "I'm here!"

Rick growled, his eyes betraying the fact that he wasn’t very angry, “You’re late, Carl.”

Carl winced, rubbing his shoulders as he leaned on his right foot. “Sorry.”

“Where’s your shadow?” Dani quipped, grinning, and leaned against a shovel.

Carl quirked his eyebrows. “Huh?”

Rick hid a snicker as Dani tried to keep a straight face. “Oliver? Where is he?”

“He’s not my shadow!” Carl grumbled, his face tinted red. "His eye is bothering him; he's with Hershel right now."

Dani grinned. “Sure...sure…” She dodged a poorly aimed punch from the boy.

“Back to work!” Rick rolled his eyes at the pair. “Grab something sharp, Carl. These weeds won’t weed themselves.”

The man then paused, staring at the two of them with a glint in his eye. “Wait...back to back...”

Dani groaned, already knowing where this was heading. “No! He absolutely cannot be taller than me! I am two years older than him, he can not-”

Carl had raced to stand behind her, and soon enough, it was revealed that, yes indeed, Carl was a good half inch taller than Dani.

“It must’ve been all the good sleep I’ve had! You know, not reading comic books!” Carl grinned and winked at Dani, who stuck her tongue out at the boy.

She huffed. She hated being short. It wasn’t as bad before when she’d only get teased. Now being short meant that it was harder to hit the Walkers in the head.

Dani decided that being immature was the way to go. “You’re not as tall as Oliver.”

Carl grinned as if the comment didn't faze him. “So? I’m gonna be. I’m gonna be way taller 'cause he literally hasn't grown!”

“Back to work!” Rick growled, throwing a weed at Carl.

 

\--


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slight amount of graphic imagery here, but it is The Walking Dead soo

\--

 

Oliver was just trying to sleep. It wasn’t his fault that Carl had decided to be a rebel and drink some of the coffee that Glenn found.

It wasn’t his fault that the boy was literally bouncing off the walls.

And yet, it was Oliver who Carl kept awake. He was very tempted to go back to his old cell.

The boy in question lay in bed underneath Oliver, flipping through the comics and regular books that they’d all read at least twice. “Do you even think that the world will get back to normal?”

Oliver inaudibly groaned and turned to lie on his belly, completely giving up on trying to sleep. His eye burned like it did every night, and like always- he ignored it, rubbing it irritably. His hand ghosted over the thick line down his face and he ignored the hole that it made in his chest. “Define normal.”

“Like…” Carl paused. “Like normal? I don’t know. Like before.”

He stifled his scoff, not wanting to end the other boys' trail of thought. “I don’t think so. Before didn’t exactly have walking dead people in it.”

Carl kicked the bed above him, making Oliver shake a bit. “Really? I hadn’t realized. I mean, do you ever think there will be governments again?”

“Maybe. Not for a very long time.”

The other boy whistled. “You think we’ll be alive to see it happen?”

Oliver laughed slightly. “What’s with these thoughts of yours, man?”

“I dunno, it’s probably the caffeine,” Carl whined softly. “Answer the question.”

Oliver was silent for a second. While he doubted that he’d actually survive in this world for much longer, he knew that Carl would. Carl could survive anything. “Yeah. Definitely.”

As if Carl knew what he’d been thinking, he asked Oliver another question, “Both of us?”

“Yeah.” The lie felt sour against his tongue. “Both of us.”

Carl huffed. “Good. I mean, man, I’d be so mad at you if you died.”

Oliver grinned, laughing louder than he should’ve. “I would be too, man.”

There was silence after that. A peaceful quiet that wasn't totally deafening; you could faintly hear other people talking further down the cell block, and the rain from outside provided a soothing backdrop to sleep to. 

Against all odds, however, he wasn't asleep. He liked to blame this on Carl, for while he had stopped talking, his clearly stuffy nose brought upon louder than average snoring. He probably wasn't even asleep. Carl was probably awake making those sounds on purpose to get back at him for stealing the last apple at dinner. 

' _Sua cadela..."_ Oliver tried that on his tongue. He'd heard Dani say it many times, especially towards Carl, and it hoped it wasn't a curse word. Something like stupid. 

Then he paused, clearing his throat, and he hoped that he was right and Carl was still awake. “Hey, Grimes...you know that language that Dani speaks?”

Carl hummed in acknowledgment, most certainly not asleep. “Random but okay.”

Oliver rolled his eyes, rubbing his scar. "I hear you guys say this all the time, but what does 's _ua cadela'_ mean?" Carl gasped overdramatically before starting to laugh. Oliver straightened, his hands gripping the sides of the bed. "What? What?"

"Nothing, nothing." It definitely didn't seem like 'nothing' as the boy kept laughing. "Just never thought I'd hear you curse. It's refreshing, honestly."

Oliver frowned, feeling extremely guilty, his face white. "Really? I didn't mean to! What did I say?"

He could hear the frown on Carl's face, slightly concerned, as he said, "Don't worry about it. It's no big deal. Sorry, I kinda made you say that."

"No, no. It's not your fault." Oliver paused, trying to move on with the conversation. “The language, though. Do you speak it to?”

“Yup. Well. Kinda. Dani’s fluent. She used to speak it more than English. She’s been teaching me my whole life, sorta. Not that I ever really caught on. I know how to carry a very simple conversion, though.”

Oliver then became irrationally jealous that they both knew two languages. His foster parents weren't the best teachers, and while they knew about three languages between the both of them he only knew English. “Why does she speak English more now?”

He heard Carl shifting around in the bunk below. “The world ended. Her family was gone, and no one could really speak to her. She had to master it pretty fast. We got on well as kids though.” 

“That’s...interesting.” He didn’t know how else to respond. 

Carl grunted, sounding slightly sour. “Do we have to talk about my sister anymore?”

Oliver snorted. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” A pause, and then Carl was back to normal, “What did you think of the newest comic book Michonne found?”

Oliver never wanted to go back to his old cell.

 

\--

 

“Okay, son. If someone gets bitten on their arm or leg, what do you have to do?” Hershel stood next to Oliver as they huddled over the limp figure of one of their dead pigs.

Oliver grimaced at the smell, resisting the urge to plug his nose. “Uh, first we need to take all clothes off the limb. Then we need to bind it. To cut off blood circulation.”

“Great. With what?”

Oliver gesture wildly with his hands. “Cloth, bandage, anything you can make tight. A belt is best.”

Hershel nodded and nodded towards the dead pig. Oliver held in a gag as he took a child's belt, and wrapped it around the hind leg. He secured it tightly, not looking at the face.

“Now what do you do, son?"

Oliver bit his lip. “Well, you need to elevate the limb before you hack it, off to make sure you don’t lose as much blood.”

Hershel smiled tightly and allowed Oliver to put a couple of cloths under the limb to raise it.

“What’s next?”

Oliver grabbed the machete and pretended to pour a sterilizer over it. “Next, we need to clean the tools.”

“Hurry up son.”

He then cut a large flap of skin almost completely off the limb and then did the same for the opposite side. Oliver then cut through the bone, sawing the limb off. He tried not to think about what he was doing - as that would surely make his hurl - and instead just went through the motions.

“Do that. Yeah. Don’t wanna say what I did.”

Oliver coughed. “Next you need to stop most of the bleeding with cloth and clean it with hydrogen peroxide. Then sew the flaps of skin together.” He followed through his own steps as he narrated them, carefully sewing together the skin using the pattern that Hershel had shown him.

Hershel smiled grimly at him. “Now, son. You only want to do it this way if you have a stable situation, a stable position. Any other situation you just need to cut it off, okay? And deal with it when you get to safety.”

Oliver nodded as he cleaned the pig's blood off his hands, shaking as he did so. It wasn’t the blood that bothered him, per se, it was the fact that it was a dead animal's blood that he just mutilated.

Oliver shuttered, turning to Dr. S who had been watching the pair. “Am I done for today, sir?”

The man paused and stared at him. “Yes, you’re done. Tomorrow, however, I start teaching you about herbs and their healing properties. I have some great books I’d like to show you.”

Oliver smiled, still feeling sick to the stomach, and shifted foot to foot. “I’d like that, sir.” He’d much rather learn about herbs than have to cut off a pigs leg.

“Run along, now.”

There was no telling him twice. He practically ran to C block, almost bumped into Karen (to which he shouted sorry as he ran by) and dashed into the cell he and Carl shared.

Of course, he bumped into the door as he had far worse sight when he was running. This furthermore put him in an off mood. His head pounded as he clutched his reddened forehead, leaning against the wall. He was only glad that he missed his eye - that would've been so much worse.

“You good, Oli?” Carl sat on his bunk reading one of the colored comics again and stared concernedly up at Oliver, who shrugged and collapsed to the floor.

Oliver leaned against the bed frame and shut his eyes, groaning slightly. “No! Ugh. I had to mess up a dead pig and then I ran into the door.”

“Yeah, I saw that.” Carl grinned, but when he saw the look on Oliver’s face he coughed. “No, but it’s good that you’re learning this stuff. You’re gonna be the next doctor! The smart one.”

“I guess.” Oliver tried his best to hide his smile.

“You’re the next Dr. Strange!”

“I doubt I’ll ever be able to perform critical without anybody dying on me.”r

Carl frowned, flicking him on the back of his head. “You're no fun.”

“Ouch.” There was no hiding this smile.

 

\--


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?? A wild Carl appears. This probably won't happen again for a while! 
> 
> Hope you like it!
> 
> (edit: haha i know it's a bit late but it's still technically thursday heh (at least where i am))

\--

 

Carl couldn’t sleep. No matter what he did, how many hours of books he read, his eyes wouldn’t shut.

What didn’t help was the knowledge that Oliver couldn’t sleep either, judging by the lack of tiny baby snores.

He groaned and tore off his covers, his feet landing harshly on the frigid floor. Carl pulled on one of his jackets and reached up to Oliver's bunk to jab him in the arm. “Oliver!”

He only received a grunt in response.

“Oliver!” He tried again, poking him harder.

Oliver’s disgruntled face appeared over the side of the bunk. “What? I was sleeping?”

Oops. Carl shrugged. “Sorry, you didn’t sound like you were sleeping.”

Oliver sent him an incredulous look and returned his head to his pillow. Well then. Carl wasn’t about to be the only one awake and decided to poke him again. “Since you’re already up, Oli, wanna go outside? Please...”

Carl dragged out the please, continuing to poke the other boy. Poke, poke, poke until Oliver sat up abruptly, smacking his hand away.

“Okay! God. DId you have more of that coffee?” The other boy looked horrified at the thought, rubbing the sleep from his dark blue eyes.

Carl laughed, ruffling Oliver’s hair as the boy jumped down from the top bunk. “No, no. Unfortunately, that ran out about two weeks ago, so you’re in the clear.”

“Yay.”

Carl scrunched up his eyebrows. “Dude, if you’re really that tired go back to bed.”

Oliver waved him off as he led the pair silently through the sleeping cell block. “I’m just messing with you.”

The cool air blew through his slightly long hair, and Carl smiled. It had been a while since he’d been out here, probably a week, and it was amazing.

Sometimes the walls could get a little suffocating. The fresh air lightly tainted with the scent of death was a relief.

Oliver led him to their usual spot and Carl sat down with a thump. The damp grass was cold on the bare skin of his hands so he bunched up his fists into the warmth of his sleeves. He laid his head down against dirt, ignoring the fact that the mud would be a hassle to get out of his hair.

The boy next to him coughed slightly, poking Carl in the side after missing the first time. He looked up at Oliver, whose cheeks were bright red as he stared at Carl through his lashes. Oliver played with the beads of his bracelet. “Could you lay to the right of me? I want to be able to see you.”

Carl’s eyes widened, feeling extremely guilty that the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. He nodded quickly, shooting to his feet.

He wouldn’t let Oliver feel bad about asking him; he wouldn't let him be ashamed about his eye. “Definitely.” Carl brushed the dirt off his legs before sitting on the right of his best friend, who was still quite red in the face.

The topic of Oliver’s left eye was one that was mostly left alone. It wasn’t really spoken of. Not in a way that people were repulsed by Oliver (who could ever be repulsed by the boy?) but in a way that no one was really sure how to approach the topic.

Oliver never spoke of it, so no one else did either. It wasn’t as if Carl hadn’t noticed the pain the other boy was in; on the contrary, it physically hurt him to keep himself from asking every day if he was okay.

The air between them felt slightly stuffy with pressure building in his chest. He glanced at Oliver from out of the corner of his eyes and stared at the scar running down his left eye. He’d always thought that it made the abnormally sweet boy look like a badass, but now it just pained him.

“What...exactly happened...to your eye?” Carl wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been thinking when he spoke but knew that immediately after the words fell through his lips, he regretted saying them.

Seeing how Oliver shrunk in on himself, his face red again and his eyes slightly wet hurt more than the bullet in his chest had. Carl groaned to himself, propping himself on his elbows. “No. No. You don’t have to answer that. Just my mouth shitting words as usual.”

He paused, waiting for Oliver to grin at him, ignore the question, shove him with a sharp, 'language!' and then start rambling about comics. That didn’t happen. Instead, it was as if Oliver hadn’t even heard him talk the second time.

The boy’s eyebrows were scrunched up in thought, his teeth biting his lips in anxiety. Carl watched the boys hands shake slightly as he ran his hands through his shaggy hair, looking up at the dark night sky.

“Oli-”

“No. It’s fine.” Oliver laughed dryly, turning on his side to better face Carl, whose chest was suddenly warmer. “Um...I was at a school. Before this.” He coughed and glanced unsurely at Carl, who nodded softly in encouragement. “With...with Emily.”

“Emily?”

“She was David’s girlfriend. Red hair. Nice. Too nice.” Oliver grimaced. “This group came, a very bad group. The Claimers. At least...that’s what I call them. I was...I was far from her. We always stuck together. But we fought, and I acted like a child. I ran and was by myself for a while. But...But I had f-forgotten that I was s-supposed to be on watch.”

The boy was shaking, staring furiously at the sky to stop tears from falling. Carl grasped Oliver’s shoulder with his hand in an attempt to keep him grounded.

“They came, and...I heard her screaming. I saw them...t-take her. I knew that she was going to be killed, after. There was nothing I could do, I was such a coward. I ran. One of them ran after me and got me with a knife. I got him back and kept running. That’s...that’s it.”

A deep dark hole filled his chest. It wasn’t fair. This world. Bad stuff like this doesn’t deserve to happen to people like Oliver. It just wasn’t fair. He clenched his fists, grinding his teeth, and willed the pressure in his chest to go away.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out, grasping tighter to the other boy’s sleeve.

Oliver coughed, rubbing his eyes. “For what.”

“Making you say something.”

The other boy smiled a sad smile, one that he hoped to god he would never see on his face again. “Ah, well. If wishes were fishes and all that.”

“Yeah. All that.” Carl paused, staring up at the deep blue sky. A while went on, soaking in the slightly charged silence. Something pounded in his ears; anger. He clenched his jaw, hating himself for that fact that he wished that the man who had hurt Oliver was still alive so he could kill him himself.

Carl then coughed, gaining attention from the other boy. “These...these claimers,” He spat the name out in disgust, “Don’t deserve to live.”

Oliver's long cold hands grasped his arm tightly, almost painfully, forcing him to look into the boy’s dark blue eyes. “No. They don’t.” It was almost as though he could read Carl’s mind; see exactly what he meant when he spoke, as the next thing he said was, “But you do.”

“You’re saying I’d die going after them?”

“I’m saying I don’t want to take the chance.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

\--

 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer - I do not own The Walking Dead or anything related to it.


End file.
